


Cherry Oil

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 20:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'reader giving christoph a massage after a stressful day'Oh hell yeah. God, now I need a massage.





	Cherry Oil

“Christoph?”

You yawn, walking down the stairs – you swear you heard him come in, presumably it hadn’t been a hallucination when he’d yelled up the stairs that he was going to ‘bury Richard’ – and look around. No sign of him – you check the kitchen. Nothing, although there is a half-drunk glass of juice on the side.

“Chris?”

“Mnnnghhh.”

You understand that noise. It transcends the language barrier. You peer around the living room door and spot a heap of leather jacket and curls on the sofa, and gently make your way over, stroking your fingers through his hair.

“What did the bad man do?” you ask gently, and Christoph makes that groaning noise again.

“I had to pretend I had taken up smoking so that I could go outside and ignore him. Then he came for a smoke break with me. So I legitimately had to smoke. I do not want to hear about something he learned with Emigrate. I do not care.”

“You’re not very encouraging,” you say, and he looks up at you, those blue eyes burning with annoyance. “Come on!”

“You may come with me to the studio and  _live through it_ ,” he says, gravely, and you giggle hysterically as he sinks back into the cushions.

“Okay, baby. Coat off.” You pull his jacket from his shoulders and throw it onto the other sofa, before sliding your fingers up under his t-shirt and gently stroking your fingers down his back. “Oh, honey, you’re so tense.”

“Mmm.”

“And chatty,” you note, and rest your fingers on his shoulder blades, running your thumbs over the knots in his muscles. “Come on. Shirt off, handsome.” He pushes himself up, and throws his shirt over to join his jacket, before kissing you slowly. Your stomach flips, and then you grin, pushing him back. “Hey, I’m giving you a massage…”

“Okay,” he says, throatily, and smiles at you – that twinkling, bright, innocent smile that made you swoon hard when you first saw him. “I do not deserve you.”

“I know,” you smile, and push him back down onto the sofa. “Wait there for a moment.” You stand up – you know you have some massage oil somewhere, Richard bought it for the two of you as a joke… you find it. Cherry-scented – very nice. You grab it and march back across the room, perching on the sofa next to him again. You pour a little oil in your hands and warm it for a moment in your palm before gently running the heels of your hands up either side of his spine. “So where are you going on your holidays?”

“I choose to believe this is some banter I do not understand.” His voice is muffled by the sofa cushions, but it sounds more relaxed.

“Please never say banter again. I regret teaching you that concept.” You gently knead his shoulders. “Honey, your muscles aren’t just knotted, they feel like a Slinky someone lost in the toybox for two years.”

“You should go into writing. You have a knack for words, dearest.” He definitely sounds a little more chilled as you work down his back again, and as he stretches, his spine  _clunk_ s. “Ah-”

“You’re old now.” You lean down and place a kiss on the dry spot at the top of his neck, earning a little shivery wriggle. “Okay, tell me if this hurts…” You dig your thumb in under one of the knots, making little circles, and he hisses. “Hurts?”

“ _Mach weiter_ ,” he says, a little slurry, and you smile, working out the knots in his shoulders. You’re no masseuse, but you know where Christoph does and doesn’t like to be touched; you gently skim your thumb along his spine, ensuring you put no pressure on it, before kneading your way back down, and pulling down his trousers slightly to squeeze just above his – rather shapely – ass. “ _Was…_?”

“Just relax. I’m being good,” you say, gently teasing, and he laughs sleepily.

“Magic fingers,” he mumbles, and you keep going, kneading gently back up before you run your thumbs up his neck and begin to gently massage his scalp. You’re surprised he isn’t actually purring at this rate.

“You’re going to have to wash your hair,” you say, in a low voice, and there’s no reply. You hold your breath as you gently rub his scalp, and the faint snore you catch is adorable, making you beam. You gently kiss his neck again, and stand up, making your way quietly into the kitchen to wash your hands. Hopefully when he wakes up, he won’t be as grumpy about Richard. Hopefully.

 

 


End file.
